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FOUR -LEAVED    CLOVER 


FOUR -LEAVED    CLOVER 


BEING 

STANFORD    RHYMES 

BY 

CAROLUS    AGER 
(CHARLES   KELLOGG   FIELD,  '95) 


REPRINTED  FROM  THE  STUDENT  PUBLICATIONS,  WITH  SUNDRY 

TRUTHFUL  PICTURINGS,  BY  DONALD  HUME  FRY,  '95, 

AND  AN  APOLOGY,  BY  DAVID  STARR  JORDAN 


Srconfi  EUition 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

\VlLLIAM    DOXEY 

1896 


COPYRIGHT,  1896 
WILLIAM  DOXEY 


Of  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  copies 

making  the  second  edition  of  this  book,  this 

i  •  *>    / 
is  Number — I—  ifrV — 


Press  of  C.  A.  Murdock  &  Co. 


This  little  book  may  perhaps  be  dear 

To  some  who  tenderly  recall 
The  Stanford  grapes,  and  the  Mayfteld  beer, 

And  the  girls  of  Roble  Hall. 


DEDICATION. 

My  four-leaved  clover  groweth  not 

Upon  Parnassus  steep, 
But  on  the  Palo  Alto  hills 

Where  Stanford  poppies  sleep; 

And  though  these  song-weeds  cluster  not 

Beside  the  Muses'  well, 
The  Spring-filled  Lagunita  Lake 

Perchance  may  do  as  well; 

No  brilliant  bloom,   but  rooted  deep 

In  /Stanford  loyalty, 
Their  still  small  voice  may  speak  to  those 

Who  share  that  love  with  me, 

Who  once  within  a  cloistered  place 

Were  college  mates  of  mine, 
In  clover  there  for  four  sweet  years 

That  bore  the  stamp  divine; 

Then,  though  this  lyre  have  but  two  strings, 

One  Love,  the  other  Beer, 
I  calmly  dedicate  them  both 

To  every  Pioneer. 


A  FELLOW  can  be  young  but  once.  So  it  is  with 
a  university.  It  is  a  royal  experience  when 
one's  own  youth  and  that  of  his  university  come 
together.  All  the  more  glorious  is  it  when,  with 
all  this,  one  has  the  gift  of  song,  if  he  does  not 
take  it  too  seriously,  and  when  the  university  has 
the  charm  of  beauty  and  the  glow  of  hope.  The 
highest  value  of  tradition  lies  in  the  making  of  it, 
and  the  rhymes  of  Carolus  Ager  are  part  of  the 
traditions  of  Leland  Stanford  Junior  University. 
To  those  of  us  who  were  part  of  the  four  precious 
pioneer  years  of  the  university,  these  rhymes  have 
a  value  beyond  that  given  by  any  literary  clever- 
9 


APOLOGY. 

ness  they  may  possess.  They  are  "original  docu 
ments"  in  our  academic  history.  Each  one  recalls 
a  day  which  the  now  sober  and  decorous  Uni 
versity  will  never  see  again.  And  it  may  be  in 
place  to  remind  the  still  more  sober  and  decorous 
public,  to  whom  these  rhymes  are  not  addressed, 
that  they  are  not  to  be  taken  too  literally.  Love 
and  wine  in  youth  are  metaphors  only.  "The  color 
of  life  is  red,"  cardinal  red,  according  to  our  theory, 
and  the  Zinfandel  has  the  same  color.  The  red 
wine  of  these  rhymes  is  not  Zinfandel;  it  contains 
no  alcohol,  nor  has  it  ever  crossed  "the  Mayfield 
bar."  It  is  the  flow  of  young  life.  So,  too,  with 
Love.  It  is  not  the  serious,  fateful  thing  it  seems, 
"once  you  have  come  to  forty  years."  It  is  a 
symbol  only,  the  emblem  of  "the  great  thing 
always  to  come,  who  knows?"  But  those  who 
have  been  once  young  understand  all  this,  and  the 
others,  let  us  hope,  will  never  hear  of  Carolus 
Ager. 


10 


SUMMARY. 

He  who  ivas  here  with  us  is  now  no  more; 

Across  the  river  he  has  wandered  far; 
I  wonder  if  upon  the  other  shore 

We'll  meet  again  as  at  the  May  field  bar. 
— From  the  Sequoia. 


CONTENTS. 

The  sea  gives  her  shells  to  the  shingle, 

The  earth  gives  her  streams  to  the  sea  ; 
They  are  many,  but  my  gift  is  single, — 

My  verses,  the  first-fruits  of  me  : 
Some  sang  to  me  dreaming  in  class-time, 

And  truant  in  hand  as  in  tongue ; 
For  the  youngest  were  born  of  boy's  pastime, 

The  eldest  are  young. 

— SWINBTJKNE. 

Page 

IN  His  OWN  COUNTRY        ...        ...      18 

(Dedicated  to  S.  E.  Simmons.) 

FIRST  LEAF  —  THE  FRESHMAN:  — 

THE  DAYS  OF  '91 20 

(Dedicated  to  the  Pioneer  Class.) 

COMING  THRO'  THE  QUAD          .         .  22 

(Dedicated  to  Henrietta  L.  Stadtmuller.) 

OH,  LET  Us  WEEP  FOR  ROBLE  !  .23 

(Dedicated  to  Roble   Hall.) 

A  LAMENT  FOR  THE  DEAR  DEPARTED      .     .      24 

(Dedicated  to  John  Van  Denburgh.) 

HONOR  AMONG  THIEVES 26 

(Dedicated  to  the  Pioneer  Faculty.) 

DANGER  ! 28 

(Dedicated  to  Maud  B.Jones.) 
13 


CONTEXTS. 
EVENING  ON  THE  CAMPUS         .         .  30 

(Dedicated  to  Pember  S.  Castleman.) 

FATE 32 

(Dedicated  to  Samuel  J.  Brun.) 

THE  HEAVENS  ABE  TELLING      ....      33 

(Dedicated  to  Carl  L.  Clemans.) 

GUTER  ALTER  WEIN 34 

(Dedicated  to  James  O.  Griffin.) 

METAMORPHOSIS 36 

(Dedicated  to  Grace  A.  Luce.) 

BARBARA'S  LULLABY 37 

(Dedicated  to  Barbara  Jordan.) 

THE  PIONEERS 3S 

(Dedicated  to  Abraham  Lewis.) 

SECOND  LEAP  —  THE  SOPHOMORE:  — 

IN  MEMORY  OF  RICHARD  ALBRECHT       .        .      42 
Two  WINDOWS 43 

(Dedicated  to  Dorothy  Steffens.) 

A   HERO 44 

(Dedicated  to  Chester  A.  Thomas.) 

A  SONG  IN  SEASON 46 

(Dedicated  to  Ellen  F.  Thompson.) 

THE  SECRET  OF  Two 47 

(Dedicated  to  John  S.  Lincoln.) 
14 


CONTENTS. 

MEMORIES 48 

(Dedicated  to  Mrs.  Samuel  Baker.) 

RELAPSE 50 

(Dedicated  to  W.  W.  Thoburn.) 

WARNING 51 

(Dedicated  to  Wynn  S.  Coman.) 

APOSTROPHE 52 

(Dedicated  to  Richard  T.  Buchanan.) 

STRATEGY 54 

(Dedicated  to  Kate  D.  Herrick.) 

A  SONG  FOR  HILDA 55 

(Dedicated  to  Hilda  Moss.) 

A  QUESTION  OF  COLOR        .         .         ...      56 

(Dedicated  to  Frances  Widney  Workman.) 

THIRD  LEAF  —  THE  JUNIOR  :  — 

THE  RIVALS 5S 

(Dedicated  to  M.  H.  Kennedy.) 

AT  STUDY-TIME 61 

(Dedicated  to  Edwin  C.  Ewell.) 

LELAND  STANFORD 62 

THE  IDEAL  CO-ED          .         .         ....      64 

(Dedicated  to  Edith  P.  Coxhead.) 

A  DRINKING  SONG         .         .         ....      66 

(Dedicated  to  John  F.  Sheehan,  Jr.) 
15 


CONTENTS. 

FALSE  LIGHTS 69 

(Dedicated  to  Melville  B.  Anderson.) 

MY  LITTLE  MAYPIELD  GIRL        ....      70 

(Dedicated  to  Christopher  B.  Diehl.) 

IN  MEMORY  OP  Louis  DONALD  MCLAINE      .      72 
A  TOAST 74 

(Dedicated  to  Walter  M.  Rose.) 

FOURTH  LEAF  —  THE   SENIOR:  — 

REUNION 76 

(Dedicated  to  the  Memory  of  Paul  S.  Ellis.) 

A  FRIEND  IN  NEED 78 

(Dedicated  to  Frank  R.  Dray.) 

THE  PROF'S  LITTLE  GIRL 82 

(Dedicated  to  Dorothy  Stillman.) 

MIZPAH 84 

(Dedicated  to  William  C.  Hazzard.) 

FOUR  VALENTINES 86 

(Dedicated  to  Alfred  Barstow.) 

GOD'S  ACRE 88 

(Dedicated  to  Mrs.  M.  B.  Anderson.) 

THE  BALLAD  OF  WOODSIDE  FIELD          .         .      90 

(Dedicated  to  William  A.  Knowles,  Jr.) 

To  WALTER  CAMP 98 

16 


CONTEXTS. 

A  THANKSGIVING  TOAST 99 

(Dedicated  to  Paul  Downing.) 

IN  THE  SPIDER'S  WEB 100 

(Dedicated  to  Jane  P.  Herrick.) 

"HONI  SOIT  Qui  MAL  Y  PENSE"     .  .    102 

(Dedicated  to  J.  T.  McGrew.) 

LORELEI 104 

(Dedicated  to  Lu  M.  Brim.) 

THE  LAST  GOOD-BY 106 

(Dedicated  to  Shirley  Baker.) 

THE  STEM — THE  ALUMNUS:  — 

AFTERWARD 110 

(Dedicated  to  Robert  W.  Campbell.) 

IN  THE  COLD,  COLD  WORLD       ....    112 

(Dedicated  to  C.  K.  Field.) 

AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE 114 

(Dedicated  to  His  Majesty.) 

WHEN  WE  COME  BACK  No  MORE          .        .    115 

(Dedicated  to  David  Starr  Jordan.) 


17 


I  made  myself  a  poet  in  the  place, 

And  blithely  sang  of  college  life  and  ivays, 
The  pleasure  of  the  undergraduate  pace, 

And  all  the  joy  between  the  holidays; 
No  care  spoke  ever  in  my  careless  song, 

From  graver  strains  I  kept  my  pipe  apart, 
And  played  the  upper  notes;  ah,  was  it  wrong 

To  dream  my  music  reached  the  student  heart? 

Upon  a  day  one  said,  with  kind  intent: 

"  Why  sing  forever  of  these  trivial  things 
For  better  music  was  your  piping  meant; 

Will  you  confess  such  earth-restricted  wings? 
Strike  some  Byronic  chord,  sublime  and  deep, 

Find  in  ethereal  flight  the  upper  air, 
And  speak  to  us  some  word  that  we  may  keep 

Within  our  hearts  and  ever  treasure  there!" 

Then,  with  one  pang  for  wasted  hours,  1  gave 

Another  meaning  to  my  faltering  lay, 
And  sang  of  Life  and  Pain,   an  early  grave, 

Hope  and  Despair,  and  Love  that  lives  alway ; 
But  when  I  listened  for  an  echoing  heart, 

I  saw  all  other  lips  with  laughter  curl, 
And  heard  them  whisper  jestingly  apart, 

"He's  got  it  bad,  poor  fool ;  we  knoiv  (he  g!rl! 


18 


19 


THE    DATS    OF    '91. 

EAR  chum  of  mine,  do  you  recall, 
When  college  had  begun, 

The  gladness  of  that  glorious  fall, 
And  how  we  spent  the  "mon  "  ? 

The  days  of  cheer,  the  days  of  beer, 
The  days  of  '91. 


Dear  maid  of  mine,  do  you  recall, 
When  first  my  heart  you  won, 

There  were  no  lights  in  Roble  Hall, 
But,  oh,  such  loads  of  fun? 

The  days  of  dark,  the  days  of  spark, 
The  days  of  '91. 

Dear  major  prof,  do  you  i^jall 

The  night,  at  set  of  sun, 
We  met,  when  each  had  made  his  haul 

Where  vineyard  pathways  run? 


20 


THE    DAYS    OF    '91. 

The  days  of  scrapes,  the  days  of  grapes, 
The  days  of  '91. 

Dear  Class  of  '95,  when  all 

The  four  years'  thread  is  spun, 

The  Freshman  follies  we  recall 
We  would  not  have  undone; 

Those  days  when  youth  came  seeking  truth, 
The  days  of  '91. 


21 


COMING  THRO'  THE  QUAD. 

(THE  PIONEER  VERSE.) 

F  a  body  meet  a  body 

Coming  thro'  the  Quad, — 
If  a  body  see  a  body, 
Can't  a  body  nod? 
Ev'ry  lassie  has  her  laddie, 
E'en  tho'  seeking  knowledge; 
Stanford  girls  are  much  like  those 
In  any  other  college. 

If  a  body  meet  a  body 

On  the  cement  walk, — 
If  a  body  greet  a  body, 

Can't  she  stop  and  talk? 
Sweeter  far  is  conversation 

In  the  open  air 
Than  on  Fridays,  in  the  parlor, 

When  the  matron  's  there ! 


22 


OH,    LET   US  WEEP   FOE   ROBLE! 


H,  let  us  weep  for  Roble !    He  is  dead. 
With    cruel    wheels    the   locomotive 
/  sped, 

And   both  the  burnished  rails  were 

blotched  with  red. 
Poor  dog! 


Full  many  tears  celestial  eyes  have  shed, 
And  many  maiden  hearts  bereaved  have  bled; 
He  will  no  more  with  angel-food  be  fed, — 
Poor  dog ! 

Then  let  us  weep  for  Roble;   he  is  dead. 
The  earth  is  heaped  upon  his  final  bed, 
The  green  of  spring-time  sprouts  above  his  head. 
Poor  dog ! 


23 


A  LAMENT  FOE  THE  DEAR  DEPARTED. 

is  step  is  gentle,  his  voice  is  low, 

His  manner  meek  as  Moses; 
I  watch  him  softly  come  and  go, 
At  work  about  the  room,  and  know 
His  murmured  words  obeisance  show, 
Each  move  his  awe  discloses. 

My  rugs  need  shaking  much,  but  he 
Perhaps  has  not  been  taught  it, 

And  so,  one  morning,  pleasantly 

I  say  this  must  no  longer  be, — 

And  find,  alas !   his  awe  of  me 
Is  not  the  thing  I  thought  it. 

Though  this  has  failed,  I  bring  to  mind 

The  good  that  coin  can  do  one; 
And  so  a  hoarded  "  half "  I  find, 
And  hand  him  it,  with  aspect  kind, 

24 


A    LAMENT    FOR    THE    DEAR    DEPARTED. 

And,  by  his  dazzling  smile  made  blind. 
Fancy  my  way  the  true  one. 

Another  Jap  this  morning  came 

To  fix  my  room  up  neatly; 
And  I  presume  it  were  a  shame 
To  think  the  vanished  one  to  blame, 
Because — a  curse  upon  his  name!  — 
He  shook  the  room  completely. 


25 


HONOR    AMONG    THIEVES. 

HORSEMAN  rides  through  the  autumn 

night, 
(The  grapes  are  heavy  upon  the 

vine,)  — 
He  searches  the  left,  and  he  scans 

the  right, 

And  his  eyes  are  keen  in  the  cold  moonlight, 
(For  grapes  devoured  shall  never  make  wine). 

There  crouches  a  student  among  the  leaves, 
(The  grapes  are  purple  iipon  the  vine,)  — 
But  many  a  shadow  the  eye  deceives, 
And  the  guard  rides  on  in  his  quest  for  thieves, 
(And  grapes  devoured  shall  never  make  wine). 

Somebody  crawls  through  the  yielding  fence, 

(The  grapes  are  trembling  upon  the  vine,)  — 
His  Faculty  whiskers  give  evidence 

26 


HONOR    AMONG    THIEVES. 

Of  unimpeachable  eminence, 

(But  grapes  devoured  shall  never  make  wine). 

There  in  the  shadow  the  two  have  met, 
(The  grapes  are   fewer  upon  the  vine,)  — 

The  sudden  start  that  one  does  n't  forget, 

The  recognition  that  's  sadder  yet, 

(And  grapes  devoured  shall  never  make  wine). 

A  clasp  of  hands  in  the  hush  of  night, 

(The  grapes  are  missing  upon  the  vine,)  — 
And  somebody's  lips  are  pledged  so  tight 
That  to  somebody  else  they  need  never  recite, 
(And  grapes  devoured  shall  never  make  wine.) 


DANGER ! 

'HEY  were  strolling  slow  together 

Where  the  oak-leaves  scattered  lay; 
In  the  sky,  with  sunset  burning, 
Floated  many  a  flaming  feather 

Fallen  from  the  wings  of  day; 
And  the  eastern  hills  stood  yearning 

For  the  daylight  fled  away, — 
Yearning  for  the  vanished  bright-time, 
Shivering,  naked,  in  the  night-time, 
Till  the  mist  rose  from  the  bay. 

In  the  quiet  of  the  gloaming 

Slowly  up  the  path  they  strayed, 

Sophomore  and  Roble  maiden; 

Love,  on  vagrant  pinions  roaming 

Where  the  last  long  sunbeams  played, 

Winged  an  arrow  mischief-laden, — 
Wounded  deeply  man  and  maid; 

28 


DANGEB ! 

And  they  wandered  ever  slower, 
While  the  sun  sank  low  and  lower, 
And  the  hills  grew  dim  with  shade. 

Ah,  for  them  the  days  are  over 

Which  in  earnest  work  were  spent; 

Study  must  give  place  to  dreaming, 

Student  has  been  changed  to  lover, 
Cupid  is  omnipotent! 

Single-hearted  ones,  esteeming 
Logic  more  than  sentiment, 

Oh,  beware  of  woodland  rambles! 

Flowering  paths  have  hidden  brambles, 
Safer  far  is  plain  cement. 


29 


EVENING    ON    THE    CAMPUS. 

BEHIND  a  screen  of  western  liills 

The  sunset  color  fades  to  night; 
Along  the  arching  corridors 

Long  shadows  steal  with  footsteps 

light. 
The  banners  of  the  day  are  furled; 

Thro'  darkening  space  the  twilight  creeps 
And  smooths  the  forehead  of  the  world 
Until  he  sleeps. 

The  oak-trees  closer  draw  their  hoods; 

A  bird,  belated,  wings  his  dim, 
Uncertain  flight,  and  far  above 

A  star  looks  down  and  laughs  at  him; 
The  sky  and  mountains  melt  in  one; 

Tall  gum-trees  range  their  ranks  around; 
The  white  walk  marks  its  length  upon 
The  velvet  ground. 

30 


EVENING    ON    THE    CAMPUS. 

From  out  the  dusk  the  chimney  points, 
Like  guiding  finger  to  the  skies; 

Down  drops  the  curtain  of  the  night, 
And  all  the  plain  in  darkness  lies, 

When,  as  the  college  buildings  seem 
To  lose  their  form  in  shapeless  mass, 

The  lights  shine  out  as  poppies  gleam 
Amid  the  grass. 


31 


FATE. 

TOOK  my  books  the  other  day, 

And  studied  in  the  Quad,  alone; 
But  no  professor  passed  that  way, 
I  was  n't  called  on  the  next  day, 
That  work  was  never  known. 


Up  on  the  road  beside  the  brook, 
One  little  hour  we  two  beguiled; 

I  never  looked  inside  a  book, 

But  I  met  each  prof  whose  work  I  took, 
And  when  I  flunked,  he  smiled. 


32 


"THE    HEAVENS    ABE    TELLING." 

I  came  over  from  Berkeley  town, 
•ft    The  sun  in  the  west  went  slowly 

down, 
And    all    around,    when    the    day 

was  old, 
The  waves  were  gaudy  with  blue  and  gold. 

The  sun  sank  into  the  west  away, 
The  colors  faded  from  off  the  bay; 
The  waves  grew  dark,  but  overhead 
The  whole  sky  gloried  in  Stanford  red! 


33 


'GUTER    ALTER    WEIN." 


il^± 


HEN,  as  a  Freshman,  I  began 
To  try  the  German  speech, 

I  studied  with  a  learned  man 
Who  knew  the  way  to  teach, 

And,  being  an  American, 

Was  not  beyond  my  reach. 


He  used  continually  the  phrase, 

"Guter  alter  Wein," 
In  showing  me  the  devious  ways 

That  adjectives  decline; 
I  wondered,  in  those  guileless  days, 

Why  he  so  liked  the  line. 

Ah,  days  of  pastimes  innocent! 

The  other  sports  that  are  ! 
When  my  allowance  never  went 

Over  the  Mayfield  bar, 

34 


"OUTER   ALTER  WEIN.' 

Nor  in  my  months'  accounts  I  sent 
Such  wash-bills  home  to  Pa; 

Ere  our  vocabularies  grew 

Until  I  could  divine 
The  meaning  hid  to  earlier  view 

In  "guter  alter  "VVein"; 
Until  "studieren,"  "schlaffen,"  too, 

Were  words  not  found  in  mine. 

Unlearned  the  lesson  of  the  lights, 
To  go  out  at  half-past  ten, 

And  never  know  the  time  o'  nights 
That  I  got  in  again; 

I  never  failed  to  count  the  flights 
Of  stairs  correctly,  then. 

A  Soph  to-day,  and  wiser  grown 

Along  another  line 
Than  German,  my  first  year  has  shown 

The  teacher's  method  fine; 
There  is  no  tongue-inspirer  known 

Like  "guter  alter  Wein"! 

35 


METAMOKPHOSIS. 

maid,  but  yesterday 
You  passed  along  a  shaded  way; 
Filled  were  your  arms  with   maiden 
hair 

And  poppies  warm;  against  your  face 
The  light  fern  found  a  resting-place, 
But  more  than  flower  or  fern  I  thought  you  fair. 

Ah!   that  was  yesterday. 

Your  window  ledge  is  wondrous  gay 
With  green  and  gold;   and  you  are  there; 

But  poison-oak  upon  your  face 

Has  found  a  second  blooming-place, 
And  flower  and  fern,  dear  maid,  are  far  more  fair. 


36 


BAEBARA'S    LULLABY. 

TJLLABY, 

The  night  is  nigh, 
Low  and  slow  the  herons  fly; 
Sleep  and  rest, 
In  the  west 
All  the  sunset  fires  die. 

Down  canyons  steep 

The  white  fogs  creep 
And  blanket  all  the  pine-trees  deep; 

Through  the  grass 

Wind-songs  pass 
While  the  night-capped  poppies  sleep. 

Hush  thee,  dear! 

The  dark  is  near, 
All  the  oak-trees  disappear; 

Dim  bats  fly, — 

Then  lullaby, 

The  red  lights  blossom, —  the  night  is  here. 
37 


THE    PIONEEKS. 

WEALTH  of  old  tradition  marks 
The  other  Universities, 
Stories  of  great  men  gone  before, 

But  no  such  things  as  these 
Could  ever  set  our  hearts  aflame 
Like  that  first  year 
That  gave  our  glorious   class  its  name 
Of  Pioneer. 

The  college  world  was  all  before 

Us  where  to  choose  our  place  of  rest, 
And  Sophomore  stock  was  low,  and  lived 

By  sufferance  at  best; 
The  other  yells  died  out  with  shame 

When  "Zah!  Zah!  Zeer!" 
Made  all  the  echoing  Quad  proclaim 
The  Pioneer. 

38 


THE     PIONEERS. 

Then,  with  our  war-paint  we  profaned 

The  dignity  of  ancient  trees, 
And  with  our  magic  numeral  awed 

The  aborigines; 
In  sundry  ways  we  let  them  know 

We  were  right  here, 

And  just  what  deference  they  must  show 
The  Pioneer. 

'Twas  then  that  in  Encina  Hall 

The  Roble  maidens  ate, 
And  we,  though  Freshman  hunger  gnawed 

At  us,  were  glad  to  wait; 
For  as  they  passed  along  the  hall 

The  fact  was  clear 
Each  maiden  had  among  us  all 
Her  Pioneer. 

We  've  watched  three  other  classes  through 
Their   Freshman    years   since  we  were 
there, 

39 


THE    PIONEERS. 

But  somehow  everything  since  then 

Has  worn  a  different  air; 
No  other  days  could  be  the  same, 

None  half  so  dear 

As  those  that  gave  our  class  its  name 
Of  Pioneer! 


40 


IN   MEMORY  OF   RICHARD    ALBRECHT. 


when  you  fell  asleep,  they  said 
The  good  die  young.    Dear  college 

friend ! 
We  who  are  left  have  sometime  read 

A  sweet  philosophy,  that  is  to  lend 
Us  comfort  now  that  you  are  dead. 

Life  is  a  sleep,  the  poets  say, 

A  slow  forgetting  of  the  light 
Shining  from  home  upon  our  way; 

Ah,  happy  one,  ere  you  had  lost  it  quite, 
God  woke  you,  saying,   "It  is  Day!" 


42 


TWO     WINDOWS. 

OPENED  my  window  at  sunset, 

And  close  to  the  sill  I  stood. 
In  the  shadowy  grass  each  poppy 

Had  put  on  a  pointed  hood, 
And  over  me  far  I  saw  the  star 
That  comes  with  the  sleep  of  things; 
The  last  bird  dreamed  in  her  hidden  nest, 
Yet  I  heard  the  sound  of  wings! 

I  have  watched  the  warm  lights  blossom, 

Like  poppies  that  bloom  at  night; 
These  have  faded  away  in  the  darkness, 

And  only  the  stars  are  bright; 
But  I  am  still  by  the  window-sill, 

Though  all  the  day-world  sleeps, 
For  the  distant  lamp  of  a  midnight  witch 

Over  the  oak-tree  peeps. 


43 


A    HEEO. 

UT  into  the  mud  and  the  wet  he  goes, 

My  hero,  tall  and  strong; 
Under  his  jersey  the  muscle  shows, 
And,  Samson-like,  his  dark  hair  grows 
Delightfully  thick  and  long. 


Out  from  his  feet  the  black  mud  flies, 

His  jacket  is  far  from  white; 
Bother  these  boys  with  their  dapper  ties! 
Who  come  and  compel  me  to  turn  my  eyes 

Away  from  a  nobler  sight. 

The  hills  are  red  with  the  western  sun, 

The  twilight  comes  like  a  dream; 
But  until  the  practice  work  is  done 
I  strain  my  eyes  for  his  every  run, 

And  I  know  he  will  make  the  team! 


44 


A    HERO. 

I  envy  the  fellow  who  keeps  his  cap, 

With  so  little  appreciation, 
While  I  stroll  back  with  a  soft-tongued  chap 
Whose  muscles  I  know  are  n't  worth  a  rap, 

And  whose  hair  is  an  imitation. 


45 


A    SONG    IN    SEASON. 

H,  the  rain! 

The  buttercups  overflow, 
And  out  on  the  hill  again 
The  yellow  violets  grow. 

Olv.the  rain! 

And  the  loving  mud  to  pass! 
The  'bus  waits  long  for  the  train, 

And  the  prof  is  late  to  his  class. 

Oh,  the  rain! 

When  the  bamboo  bends  to  the  rim, 
And  a  girl  and  a  hurricane 

Are  waging  a  battle  grim. 

Oh,  the  rain! 

At  the  last  sweet  bell  defied, 
With  one  umbrella  for  twain, 

And  a  sidewalk  two  planks  wide. 


THE  SECRET  OF  TWO. 

E  came  to  the  Quad  in  a  sweater, 
The  dude  of  Encina  Hall; 

The  rest  of  us  wondered  whether 
The  skies  were  about  to  fall; 

For  the  whole  crowd  put  together. 
In  dressing,  he  beat  us  all. 

Oh,  the  look  on  his  love  as  he  met  her, 
The  gaze  of  the  prof  in  class! 

Transformed  was  the  youth  aesthetic, — 
What  wonder  had  come  to  pass? 

Was  he  going  to  turn  athletic, 

This  priest  of  the  Flat-iron  and  Glass? 

But  one  in  the  crowd  knew  better, 
One  soul,  unconsulted  and  still, 

Who  held  in  his  grim  possession 
A  brown  paper  bundle,  until 

This  gem  of  aesthetic  expression 
Should  pay  up  his  laundry  bill. 
47 


MEMORIES. 

o,  my  boy,  you  cannot  please  me 

With  your  cultivated  choir; 
Go  yourself,  but  do  not  tease  me 
From  my  place  beside  the  fire; 
For  my  heart  is  back  at  college 
While     I     dream    here    in    the 

dark, 
And  I  fancy  I  hear  Shirley 

Asking  us,   "Who  built  de  ark?" 

Get  some  pretty  girl  to  go,  sir; 

They  enjoy  that  sort  of  thing; 
There  was  one  I  used  to  know,  sir, 

When  the  quartet  used  to  sing; 
And  when  we  went  walking,  later, 

You  could  count  on  one  remark, — 
"Isn't  Mr.  Baker  funny 

When  he  asks,  'Who  built  de  ark?" 

48 


MEMOKIES. 

Give  it  up,  my  boy;    I  'm  clinging 

To  the  songs  of  a  dead  day; 
There  are  other  voices  singing 

In  the  firelight,  and  I  pray, 
When  we  meet  in  the  hereafter, 

They  will  give  us  one  good  lark, 
And  we  all  may  answer  Shirley, 

"Brudder  Noah  built  de  ark!  " 


49 


RELAPSE. 

STUDY  Evolution, 

And  hear  the  teacher  tell 
How  we  have  all  developed 

From  an  isolated  cell ; 


And  in  the  examination 

Some  fellows  make  it  plain 

Their  principles  will  bring  them 
To  the  starting-point  again. 


50 


WARNING. 


AIDENS,  when  near  the  museum, 

Hush  your  confidential  love, 
Lest  you  teach  a  fatal  habit 
To  the  statues  up  above; 
For  reflect,  what  dreadful  discord, 
Think,  what  awful  anger-blasts 
Would  be  stirred  up,  if  those  statues 
Ever  got  to  "  trading  lasts  "  ! 


APOSTROPHE. 

ou  may  talk  of  all  the  places 
Where    you  've    gone   to    eat 

your  fill  — 

The  Creamerie  and  Wilson's, 
Maison  Riche  and  Palace  Grill: 
They  are  magic  names  no  longer, — 

You  can  tell  it  by  my  looks; 
For  I  sing  the  German  Baker, 
And  the  new  French  Cooks. 

In  the  spring  a  young  man's  fancy 

Lightly  turns  to  thoughts  of  love, 
So  they  say;  there  are  exceptions, 

Like  myself,  as  I  can  prove; 
For  let  all  the  other  fellows 

Feast  on  love  in  pleasant  nooks, 
But  give  me  the  German  Baker, 

And  the  new  French  Cooks. 

52 


APOSTROPHE. 

Now,  I  don't  go  much  on  aliens, 

As  a  rule;  but,  if  you  please, 
Don't  restrict  the  immigration 

Of  such  charming  men  as  these; 
And  instead  of  giving  wealthy 

Girls  to  titled  foreign  crooks, 
Let  us  swap  for  German  Bakers, 

Or  for  good  French  Cooks. 

I  am  longing  less  for  mother 

Than  I  was  not  long  ago, 
And  my  weary  way  is  brightened 

With  a  blessing,  and  I  know 
That  the  good  Recording  Angel, 

When  he  figures  up  his  books, 
Won't  forget  the  German  Baker 

And  the  two  French  Cooks. 


53 


STRATEGY. 

OME,  Cupid  kills  with  arrows, 

Some,  with  traps;" 
But  this  spring  the  little  rascal 

Found,  perhaps, 
That  he  needed  both  to  slay  me; 

So  he  laid  a  cunning  snare 
On  the  hillside,  and  he  hid  it 

In  a  lot  of  maidenhair; 
And  I  doubt  not  he  is  laughing 

At  the  joke, 

For  he  made  his  arrows  out  of 
Poison-oak. 


A    SONG    FOE    HILDA. 

HERE  the  sunshine  warm  is  sleeping 

When  the  noon  is  still, 
See  the  baby-blue-eyes  peeping 

From  the  grassy  hill. 
All  day  long  the  great  Sun  passes 

Through  the  sky  above; 
Baby-blue-eyes  from  the  grasses 
Smile  at  him  they  love. 

When  the  drowsy  Sun  is  sinking 

Deep  into  the  west, 
See  the  baby-blue-eyes  blinking, — 

It  is  time  for  rest; 
And  the  Lady  Moon  when  beaming 

On  the  darkened  hill, 
Finds  the  baby-blue-eyes  dreaming 

Of  the  sunlight  still. 


55 


A    QUESTION    OF    COLOR. 

(AIDEN  dear,  your  eyes  are  blue, 

The  glint  of  gold  is  in  all  your 

hair; 
But  never   may  I   to   those   colors 

two 

Be  loyal,  although  I  must  own  them  fair. 
Still,  beauty,  though  it  bloom  like  yours, 

Is  only  transient  after  all; 
Virtues  are  strong  while  love  endures, 
And  they  in  you  are  cardinal! 


57 


THE    RIVALS. 

HERE  's  such  a  racket  round  my 

room ! 

The  fellow  under  me 
Has    frequent   fits   of   frightful 

gloom, 

In  which  condition  he 
Upon  a  'cello  wails  as  though 
It  were  the  voice  of  one  below 
Where  souls  in  torment  be. 

A  man  who  plays  the  cornet  shrill 

Is  quartered  overhead; 
Its  strident  voice  is  never  still, — 

;wear  ho  plays  in  bed; 
But  when  he  tackles  "Robin  Hood," 
And  plays  it  like  a  dirge,  I  would 

That  one  of  us  were  dead! 


58 


THE    RIVALS. 

There  is  a  poor  asthmatic  flute 

That  wheezes  on  my  left. 
If  some  fine  day  the  heartless  brute 

Should  be  of  it  bereft, 
The  record-angel,  I  dare  think, 
Would  write  me  up  in  colored  ink, 

And  love  me  for  the  theft. 

A  singer  dwells  upon  my  right, 

Last  but  by  no  means  least, 
"Who  celebrates  in  song  each  night 

Some  sweetheart  now  deceased; 
And  though  his  grief  may  be  profound, 
His  upper  notes,  it  seems,  would  sound 

More  musical  if  greased. 

What  have  I  done,  that  these  should  join 

To  make  my  fortune  worse? 
Is  there  no  way,  for  love  or  coin, 

To  rid  me  of  the  curse? 
The  happiest  day  that  dawns  for  me 

59 


THE    EIVAL8. 

Shall  be  the  one  on  which  I  see 
The  noisy  flock  disperse; 

For  though  within  my  room  alone 
For  hours  I  have  stayed 

And  practiced  on  my  big  trombone, 
It 's  lost  time,  I  'm  afraid, — 

The  racket  round  my  room  is  such 

I  really  cannot  tell  how  much 
Improvement  I  have  made. 


60 


AT    STUDY-TIME. 


T    study-time    the    white    lamp 

throws 
Its  light  on  many  a  page 

sublime, 

Where  many  a  master's  im 
age  glows, 
At  study  time. 


Tet  evermore,  through  prose  or  rhyme, 

One  sweet  thought  buds  and  gently  grows 
Full-flushed  as  roses  in  their  prime. 

At  length,  unread  my  books  I  close, — 

Ah,  let  them  go !  too  sweet  the  crime 
To  think  on  thee,  forgetting  those 
At  study-time. 


61 


LELAND    STANFORD. 

WEET    rest  to   thee   and    thine, 

illustrious  head, 

Sweet  rest  and  deep, 

Where    we     have    laid    thee, 

after  all  is  said, 
In  granite-guarded  sleep; 
With  that  stern  silence  of  long  ages  dead, 
The  sphinxes  vigil  keep. 

Not  yet,  strong  heart,  into  that  hush  of  stone 

Comes  perfect  peace; 
Still  waiting  stands  the  third  place  open  thrown, 

Unrest  can  only  cease 
When  from  the  sorrow  she  endures  alone 

One  other  finds  release. 


Sweet  rest  to  thee  and  thine;  in  calm  content 
Sleep  quietly  ; 


LELAND    STAXFOIiD. 


More  than  a  granite  tomb  the  monument 
That  ever  stands  to  thee, 

The  gratitude  of  our  great  continent 
Thine  immortality. 


63 


THE    IDEAL    CO-ED. 

(WRITTEN  TO  MUSIC.) 

'HE  ideal  co-ed  is  a  thing  of   books, 

A  creature  of  brain  entirely, 
With    stooping   shoulders  and  stu 
dious  looks, 

She  digs  all  day  and  half  the  night; 
People  say  she  is  wondrous  bright, 
But  her  figure  's  an  awful  sight ! 
Her  thoughts  are  deep  in  the  classic  past, 
She  only  thinks  of  A.  B.  at  last; 

She  has  fled  this  world  and  its  masculine  charms, 
And  a  refuge  found  in  Minerva's  arms. 

Now,  the  kind  of  co-ed  that  I  describe 

Is  a  co-ed  seen  very  rarely; 
The  real  co-ed  's  a  thing  of  grace, 
With  dainty  figure  and  winsome  face; 

She  walks  and  rides,  and  she  cuts,  mon  Dieu! 

64 


THE     IDEAL    CO-ED. 

But  every  professor  lets  her  through; 
For  her  each  year  is  a  round  of  joy, 
A.  B.  means  nothing  if  not  "A  Boy," 

And  you  and  I  must  yield  to  her  charms, 
And  take  the  place  of  Minerva's  arms. 


65 


DRINKING    SONG. 

(WRITTEN    TO    MUSIC.) 

WE  'LL  go  down  the  road  to  the  Lit 
tle  Vendome 
When    the    stars    are    shining 

bright, 
And  we  '11    fill    up    our    glasses 

and  never  go  home 
Through  all  the  livelong  night; 
We  '11    drink,    drink,    drink,    with    laughter 

free, 
A  toast  to  our  University. 

But  the  night  must  pass, 

And  there  comes,  alas ! 
A  dark- brown  taste  in  the  morning; 
O  fill  up  your  glasses  —  don't  be  a  dig !  — 

Who  cares  a  fig 

If  his  head  is  big? 

66 


DRINKING    SONG. 

And  what  care  we  so  long  as  we  drink  till 
the    dawning  ? 

But  next  day  in  recitation 

Oh!  how  hard  to  keep  awake; 
Raging  thirst  without  cessation, 

All  one  grand  headache ! 

Ah!  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha! 
What  though  sadly  we  may  suffer, 

What  though  suspicious  be  our  looks, 
Every  student  is  a  bluffer, — 

We  will  sleep  behind  our  books. 

Come  then,  drink,  with  laughter  free, 

Drink  to  the  University  ! 

All  too  swiftly  each  year  passes, 

College  life  is  wondrous  fair  — 
Up  then,  boys,  and  fill  your  glasses, 

Drink  to  the  days  that  know  no  care. 

Then  fill  up  the  glass  to  the  sparkling  brim 
And  drink  until  we  fall; 
67 


DRINKING    SONG. 

Whoever  can  drink  it  we  've  welcome  for  him 

Beneath  the  redwood  tall; 
We  '11  drink,  drink,  drink,  with  laughter  free, 
Beneath  the  stately  Palo  Alto  tree. 

Though  the  night  must  pass, 

And  there  comes,  alas! 
A  world  of  woe  in  the  morning, 
We  '11  fill  up  our  glasses  —  the  man 's  a  dig 

Who  cares  a  fig 

If  his  head  is  big, — 

So  what  care  we   so  long  as  we  drink  till  the 
dawning  ? 


63 


FALSE     LIGHTS. 

HAVE  a  little  attic  room 

That  looks  upon  the  Row, 

My  head  professor's  clover  lawn 
Grows  grudgingly  below, 

And  he  can  watch  my  study-lamp 
Until  to  bed  I  go. 

So  with  incentive  such  as  this 

I  trim  my  studious  light, 
And  far  into  the  short-wicked  hours 

My  window-square  is  bright, 
And  my  professor  knows  he  need 

Not  ask  me  to  recite. 

Then  sweetly  let  my  beacon  burn, 

And  my  professor  smile, 
Although  between  my  light  and  me 

There  lies  a  darkened  mile; 
My  signal-lamp  is  trimmed,  and  I 

In  Mayfield  all  the  while ! 


MY    LITTLE    MATFIELD    GIRL. 

(WRITTEN  TO  MUSIC.) 

OST  every  one  loves  a  co-ed  — 

Some  fellows  love  two  or  three, — 
But   among    all    the    girls    on   the 

campus 

There  is  n't  one  in  it  with  me, 
For  'way  down  the  road  by  the  Brewery 

Lives  one  who  sets  me  in  a  whirl, 
While  helping  her  Ma  make  tamales, — 
My  little  Mayfield  girl. 

My  pearl  is  a  Mayfield  girl, 

She  's  all  the  world  to  me; 
She  's   in   it  with   any  of  the  girls  on 

the  Quad, 

Though  swagger  and  swell  they  be; 
At    Dornberger's    Hall,    oh,     she    kills 

them  all, 
As  waltzing  together  we  twirl, 

70 


MY    LITTLE    MAYFIELD    GIRL. 

No    co-ed    is    in    it    with    her    for    a 

minute, — 
My  little  Mayfield  girl. 

She  never  comes  up  to  the  classes, 

Or  lectures  or  chapel  at  all, 
But  when  there  's  a  fifty-cent  party 

I  meet  her  at  Dornberger's  Hall; 
Then  I  move  in  the  Mayfield  "400" 

And  round  in  the  lancers  we  whirl, — 
I  wonder  she  never  gets  dizzy, 

My  little  Mayfield  girl! 

My  pearl  is  a  Mayfield  girl, 

None  is  so  sweet  as  she; 
Fred  is  forgotten,  and  Patsy,  as  well, — 

She  makes  the  town  for  me; 
Then  let  all  the  rest  of  the  boys  go  west, 

Where  Roble  sets  young  heads  awhirl, 
But  the  shrine  where  I  'm  priest  lies  away 
to  the  east 

With  my  little  Mayfield  girl. 
71 


IN  MEMORY  OF  LOUIS  DONALD  McLAINE. 


WATCHED  with  one  who  heard,  as  in 

in  a  dream, 
The  surging  of  far  waters  grow 

apace; 
The  mist  that  rises  from  the  nearer 

brink 

Settled  in  chilly  damp  upon  his  face; 
There  came  a  gentle  color  to  the  sky, 

I  saw  the  stars  melt  into  morning  air, — 
A  little  yet  he  knew  my  ministry, 

And  then  the  river  crept  between  us  there. 

When  I  had  closed  his  eyes,  a  wonder  came; 

Another  watcher  bent  above  the  place 
Of  my  dead  friend;  dark,  terrible,  the  shape 

Bent  over  him,  I  could  not  see  its  face; 
And  then  it  turned  to  me;  all  heaven  shown 
From,    that    calm   brow,  those    eyes    serenely 
clear, 

72 


IN    MEMORY    OF    LOUIS    DONALD    McLAINE. 

Death  left  me  with  the  body  there  alone, 
And  witness  me,  I  have  not  shed  one  tear. 


One  year  ago  this  time  he  went  away, — 

One  year  of  struggle,  ended  in  the  spring; 
Not  all  the  shadow  of  our  loss  can  hide 

The  promise  sweet  that  speaks  in  every  thing; 
Out  of  the  underworld  of  clinging  earth 

Freed  nature  finds  the  light.     We  may  not  weep 
Aloud  for  him;  this  season  of  new  birth 

Hushes  the  murmur  of  our  grief  to  sleep 


73 


A    TOAST. 

EEE'S  to  the  Freshman,  all  verdant 

and  gay. 

^LJ^       Here  's  to  the  Soph  and  his  folly, 
Here  's  to  the  Senior  afraid  of  next 

May, 

And  here  's  to  the  Junior  so  jolly; 
Let  the  toast  pass, 
Drink  to  the  Class, — 
Her  glory  shall  be  our  excuse  for  the  glass. 

Here's  to  the  Class  that  is  leader  in  all, — 
Long  may  she  prosper  and  thrive,  boys! 
Then  fill  up  your  glasses  and  drink  at  my  call 
The  glory  of  old  Ninety-five,  boys; 
Let  the  toast  pass, 
Drink  to  the  Class, — 
Her  glory  shall  be  our  excuse  for  the  glass. 


74 


75 


KEUNION. 

HE  sun  is  warm  upon  the  palms, 
The  stately  bamboos  nod 

As  though  they  felt  the  freshened  life 
That  stirs  within  the  Quad, 

This  happy  time  of  meeting,  when 
We  greet  so  joyously 


The  voices  that  we  hear  again, 
The  faces  that  we  see. 

But  while  this  gladness  fills  the  air 

A  shadow  steals  our  way, 
Darkens  the  shining  green  and  dims 

The  brightness  of  the  day; 
The  fellowship  that  cheered  us  then 

And  now  no  more  may  be, 
The  hand  we  may  not  clasp  again, 

The  face  we  may  not  see. 


76 


KEUNION. 

Some  day,  perhaps,  a  sun  may  shine 

Where  shadow  is  not  known, 
Where  no  such  hungry  thought  as  haunts 

To-day  this  echoing  stone 
Shall  ever  sadden  meeting  when 

We  keep,  eternally, 
The  voices  that  we  hear  again, 

The  faces  that  we  see. 


77 


A    FKIEND    IN    NEED. 

OME  hither,  little  Freshman, 

And  sit  upon  my  knee, 
And  let  me  give  you  pointers  on 

The  University  — 
Some  friendly  words  of  warning, 
To  guide  you  in  a  land 
Whose  ways  are  full  of  mystery 
And  hard  to  understand. 

No  doubt  the  different  teachers 

In  whose  kind  care  you  propped 
Have  told  you  many  a  fairy  tale 

Which  you  as  truth  have  kept, — 
How  college-life  means  struggle 

For  intellectual  ends, — 
Vain  theories,  as  you  soon  will  find, 

Since  you  and  I  are  friends. 


78 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED. 

My  boy,  the  world  is  moving, 

The  old  ideas  outgrown, 
And  we  must  leave  such  ancient  souls 

To  fossilize  alone. 
Our  battle  with  the  brain  is 

By  no  means  what  you  dream; 
The  hardest  thing  you  '11  have  to  do 

Will  be  to  make  the  team. 

Study  your  head  professor 

More  than  the  books  you  buy; 
The  proper  study  of  mankind 

Is  man,  you  know, —  so  try. 
Fathom  his  favorite  hobby, 

Some  hidden  crank  unearth, — 
Whether  it 's  books  or  babies,  just 

Work  it  for  all  it 's  worth. 

When  suddenly  you  find  you  're 
Encompassed  round  about 

By  men  of  whose  affection  deep 
You  hardly  dare,  to  doubt, 

79 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED. 

Whose  grasp,  so  firm  and  cordial, 
Pulls  you  this  way  and  that, 

Be  not  puffed  up,  but  recognize 
The  mystic  signs  of  "Frat." 

The  girls  who  wait  in  ambush 

Along  these  cloistered  ways  — 
Fear  not,  they  will  not  care  to  frown 

Upon  your  Freshman  days; 
Take  them  on  walks,  to  lectures, 

(When  these  are  free,  I  mean), 
And  when  the  annual  hops  come  round 

Then  get  a  city  queen. 

One's  Freshman  year,  young  fellow, 

Is  all  too  short  and  sweet; 
To  him  we  yield  one  precious  boon, — 

The  privilege  to  treat. 
He  may  indulge  in  beer-feeds 

Uncriticised,  although 
There  should  be  upper-classmen  there, 

To  give  it  tone,  you  know. 

80 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED. 

Oh,  by  the  way,  my  money 

This  month  has  been  delayed; 
You  have  n't  got  a  V  to  spare 

Me,  have  you,  till  I  'm  paid  ? 
Ah,  thanks!  don't  lend  too  often. 

It 's  lucky  you  've  got  me, 
Old  man,  to  give  you  pointers  on 

The  University. 


81 


THE    PROF'S    LITTLE    GIRL. 

HE    comes    to    the    Quad   when    her 

Ladyship  pleases, 
And   loiters   at   will   in   the    sun 

and  the  shade; 
As  free  from  the  burden  of  work 

as  the  breezes 

That  play  with  the  bamboo  is  this  little  maid. 
The    tongues  of   the    bells   as   they   beat   out   the 

morning 

Like  mad  in  their  echoing  cases  may  whirl 
Till   they  weary   of   calling   her, —  all    their    sharp 

warning 
Is  lost  on  the  ear  of  the  prof's  little  girl. 

With  a  scarred-over  heart  that  is  old  in  the  knowl 
edge 

Of  all  the  maneuvers  and  snares  of  the  Hall, 
Grown  wary  of  traps  in  its  four  years  at  college, 

And  able  at  last  to  keep  clear  of  them  all, — 

82 


THE    PROF  S    LITTLE    GIRL. 

Oh,  what  am  I  doing  away  from  my  classes 

With  a  little  blue  eye  and  a  brown  little  curl? 

Ah  me !  fast  again,  and  each  precious  hour  passes 
In  slavery  sweet  to  the  prof's  little  girl. 

She  makes  me  a  horse,  and  I  mind  her  direction, 

Though  it  takes  me  o'er  many  a  Faculty  green; 
I  'm  pledged  to  the  cause  of  her  pussy's  protection 

From  ghouls  of  the  Lab  and  the   horrors   they 

mean; 
I  pose  as  the  sire  of  a  draggled  rag  dolly 

Who  owns  the  astonishing  title  of  Pearl;  — 
And  I  have  forgotten  that  all  this  is  folly, 

So  potent  the  charm  of  the  prof's  little  girl! 

Yet,  spite  of  each  sacrifice  made  to  impress  her, 

She  smiles  on  my  rival.    Oh,  vengeance  I  'd  gain! 
But  he  wears  the  same  name  as  my  major  professor, 

And  so  in  his  graces  I  have  to  remain; 
And  when  she  trots  off  with  this  juvenile  lover, 

Leaving  me  and  the  cat  and  the  doll  in  a  whirl, 
It 's  pitiful  truly  for  us  to  discover 

The  signs  of  her  sex  in  the  prof's  little  girl. 
83 


MIZPAH. 

the  bills  and  far  away, 

With    marvelous    muscles    and 

wonderful  hair, 
The    team   has   stolen   for   secret 

play 
Over  the  hills  and  far  away, 

And  only  themselves  know  where. 

Out  on  the  oval  a  silence  reigns, 

The  stealing  shadows  are  all  alone; 
Somewhere  else  each  champion  trains, 
And  all  unwatched  his  muscle  strains 
In  some  retreat  unknown. 

And  we,  who  can  only  watch  and  cheer 

At  nightly  practice,  must  wait  and  dream 
Of  that  mighty  day  that  draws  so  near, 
And,  hovering  still  between  hope  and  fear, 
Bet  on  our  vanished  team. 
8-1 


MIZPAH. 

But  when  they  come  (ah !  the  days  are  few), 

The  Haight-street  campers  shall  yield  the  day, 
And  the  vanquished  wearers  of  gold  and  blue 
Shall  fold  their  tents,  as  the  Arabs  do, 
And  silently  steal  away. 


FOUR    VALENTINES. 

O-MORROW  is  the  day  for  valentines; 
Then  let  me  leave,  my  thesis  for 

a  space, 

^-^r    Lower    the    lamplight    on   these 
weary  lines, 


And  dream   a   little   in  the  shadowed  place. 
In  my  three  years  at  college,  I  have  named 

My  Valentine  and  kept  the  season  thrice; 
The  jolly  saint  himself  is  to  be  blamed 

If  I  have  never  had  the  same  one  twice. 

In  Freshman  days,  with  all  about  me  strange, 

And  home's  sweet  halo  shining  on  my  way, 
My  heart  had  never  known  the  sense  of  change, 

And  one  dear  face  was  with  me  day  by  day; 
So,  when  the  time  was  here,  I  wrote  my  verse 

And  drew  the  heart  and  arrow  up  above, 
And,  happy  in  the  thought  I  might  do  worse, 

I  sent  it  off  to  Mother  with  my  love. 
86 


FOUK   VALENTINES. 

When  I  had  felt  the  thrill  of  Sophomore  days, 

My  thoughts  were  given  to  a  dainty  maid 
At  college  with  me,  and  in  woodland  ways 

And  quiet  music-rooms  my  court  I  paid. 
But,  with  my  Junior  dignity,  I  chose 

My  Queen  abroad,  within  the  city's  glare, 
Forgot  the  violet  for  the  gayer  rose, 

And  lost  my  heart  and  pocket-money  there. 

Saint  Valentine,  those  days  were  long  ago; 

Your  power  is  lost  upon  this  penitent, 
For,  with  my  Senior  gravity,  I  know 

That  life  means   more  than  your  light  sen 
timent. 
And  yet,  this  once  your  day  shall  have  from  me 

Some  of  the  old  observance,  though  I  scoff; 
My  thesis  waits, — my  Valentine  shall  be 

The  old-maid  sister  of  my  major  prof. 


87 


GOD'S    ACRE. 

H,  so  pure  the  white  syringas ! 

Oh,  so  sweet  the  lilac  bloom 
In  the  Arboretum  growing 

Near  a  granite  tomb! 
By  the  arching  pepper-branches 
Let  us  tender  silence  keep; 
We  have  come  into  God's  Acre 
Where  the  children  sleep. 

In  the  trees  the  quail  are  calling 

To  the  rabbits  at  their  play, 
While  the  little  birds,  unknowing, 

Sing  their  lives  away; 
In  the  night-time  through  the  branches 

Wistfully  the  young  stars  peep, 
But,  with  all  these  playmates  round  them, 

Still  the  children  sleep. 


GOD  S    ACRE. 

Once  within  that  leafy  shelter 

Some  one  hid  herself,  to  rest, 
With  another  little  dreamer 

Folded  to  her  breast; 
And  a  sense  of  consolation 

Stealeth  unto  them  that  weep, 
While  that  mother-heart  lies  sleeping 

Where  the  children  sleep. 

Year  by  year  the  Christmas  berries 

Redden  in  the  quiet  air, — 
Year  by  year  the  vineyard  changes, 

Buds  and  ripens  there; 
We  give  place  to  other  faces, 

But  the  years'  relentless  sweep 
Cometh  not  into  God's  Acre 

Where  the  children  sleep. 


89 


THE  BALLAD  OF  WOODSIDE  FIELD. 

OME,  gather  round,  ye  merry  men 
Who  live  within  the  Hall; 

The  feast  is  done,  the  door  is  shut, 
Then  gather,  gentles  all, 

And  hearken  to  a  tale  of  six, 
And  what  did  them  befall. 

Now,  Sir  Adolphus  was  a  Knight 

Of  mickle  might  to  see; 
He  hailed  from  off  the  frozen  shore 

Of  Northern  Germany; 
And  no  one  in  the  brazen  band 

Was  half  so  bold  as  he. 

His  fists  were  iron-clad  in  strength; 

His  arms  were  made  of  brawn; 
Along  Encina's  reverent  halls 

He  walked  with  splendid  scorn, 
And  blew  his  own  horn  valiantly 

From  eve  to  dewy  morn. 

90 


THE    BALLAD    OF    \VOODSIDE    FIELD. 

Then  up  rose  wily  Billinoles 

And   listened  to  the  strain; 
The  sound  of  Sir  Adolphus'  horn 
Gave  him  a  subtle 

pain, 
He    vowed    unto    his 

patron  saint 
It  should  not  blow  again. 

He  hied  him  up  the  winding  stair, 

Up  to  the  eastern  tower, 
Where  dwelt  the  doughty  warrior,  Milt, 

A  knight  of  dreaded  power, 
Whose  fists  to  many  a  reckless  foe 

Had  brought  his  passing  hour. 

Sir  Milt  reclined  within  his  hall, 

His  pipe  was  in  his  hand; 
He  filled  it  from  a  casket  near 

That  bore  the  "Old  Bull"  brand. 
The  dust  upon  his  books  was  deep; 

(You  yoemen  understand). 

91 


THE    BALLAD    OF    WOODSIDE    FIELD. 

The  wily  Billinoles  stepped  in 
And  softly  locked  the  door; 

With  hellish  art  he  argued  there, — 
Ten  minutes  'twas  or  more, — 

Until  Sir  Milt  was  pledged  to  wade 
In  Sir  Adolphus'  gore. 

Then  up  rose  Billinoles  again 

And    hied    him    forth    in 

glee; 
Adown  the   hall   he  sped  as 

though 

Upon  the  track  was  he; 
The  baleful  light  within  his 

eyes 
"Was  dreadful  for  to  see. 

"Now,  Sir  Adolphus,  hark  ye  well, 

Encina's  bravest  knight; 
The  bold  Sir  Milt  has  challenged  thee 

To  meet  in  bloody  fight. 
92 


THE    BALLAD    OF    WOODSIDE    FIELD. 

Up,  then,  and  battle  for  thy  fame, 
And  Heaven  defend  the  right !  " 

The  Lord  Gambrinus  swore  an  oath: 
"By  Adderson,"  quoth  he, 

"  And  every  other  evil  power 
That  blasts  the  land  or  sea, 

I  '11  make  this  upstart  bite  the  dust 
Ere  he  be  done  with  me ! 

"Go  get  thee  to  the  Earl  of  Jeff; 

Borrow  a  glove  or  two 
And  cast  them  at  the  feet  of  Milt, 

My  high  defiance,  too, — 
Or  may  all  Roble  cease  to  smile 

At  me,  as  now  they  do !  " 

Oh,  who  can  tell  from  words  alone 
What  lieth  in  the  heart? 

No  sooner  did  the  gleeful  Bill 
Upon  his  way  depart, 

Than  Sir  Adolphus  showed  himself 
A  man  of  boundless  art. 


THE    BALLAD    OF    WOODSIDE    FIELD. 

Up  to  Sir  Milt  lie  made  his  way 

And  pressed  a  novel  suit, 
Which  was  that  they  should  pull  the  leg 

Of  Billinoles  so  cute, 
And  give  to  him  through  all  the  world 

The  lasting  name  of  "Fruit." 

Bright  dawned  the  day  on  Woodside  town; 

The  lists  they  were  prepared; 
The  swelling  muscles  of  the  knights 

Were  to  the  sunlight  bared. 
Now  listen,  merry  men,  and  hear 

Of  how  the  heroes  fared. 

Sly  Billinoles  was  there,  and  Vann, 

And  a  Scot  of  equal  worth. 
They  turned  away  their  evil  eyes 

To  hide  their  godless  mirth; 
(But  Heaven  took  away  from  them 

Their  mortgage  on  the  earth). 

Now  would  they  brook  no  more  delay, 
But  bade  the  foemen  stand. 
94 


THE    BALLAD    OF    WOODSIDE    FIELD. 

They  rubbed  them  down  and  faced  them  there 

Upon  the  good  green  land; 
But  both  Adolphus  and  Sir  Milt 

Showed  woeful  lack  of  sand. 

Nor  this  nor  that  had  been  arranged 

As  they  would  have  it  done; 
Each  hemmed  and  hawed,  and  so  delayed 

To  meet  the  other  one, 
Till  Vann  and  Billinoles  were  tired 

And  sweating  in  the  sun. 

But  now  at  last  they  take  their  stand 

Within  the  oft-changed  lists; 
Up  in  the  glad  spring  air  they  raise 

Their  murder-dealing  fists, — 
When  suddenly  there  comes  a  cry, 

And  every  one  desists. 

A  cloud  of  dust,  a  frantic  form 

Coming  at  breakneck  speed, 
Whose  lightning  rate  the  watchers  know 

Bespeaks  an  urgent  need: 
95 


THE    BALLAD    OF    WOODSIDE    FIELD. 


It  is  the  great  Frazierius 
Upon  his  iron  steed! 


With  gasping  sides  he  wildly  speaks: 
"  For  love  of  life,  no  more ! 

King  David  hath  got  on  to  this, 
And  all  your  days  are  o'er, 

If  on  this  day  the  Woodside  green 
Be  stained  with  student  gore." 

This  said,  he  fainted  where  he  stood, 
And  when  in  time  brought  to, 

The  gathering  of  valiant  men 
Discreetly  then  withdrew. 

96 


THE    BALLAD    OF    WOODSIDE    FIELD. 

The  plot  had  failed,  and  three  of  them 
Were  indigo  in  hue. 

Down  to  the  Redwood  market-place 
They  made  a  quick  retreat; 

Where  Billinoles  did  set  them  up 
With  sundry  things  to  eat, 

And  all  the  dough  that  he  could  raise 
Was  swallowed  in  the  treat. 

Now,  all  ye  merry  men,  who  hear 

The  story  of  this  scrap, 
Remember  oft  the  trapper  falls 

Into  his  own  sly  trap: 
It  is  not  always  whom  we  fool, 

That  later  wear  the  chap. 


97 


TO   WALTER   CAMP. 

IOOD-BY,  until   we   meet   again, 

Thrice  -  honored    friend    from 

Mother  Yale! 
Under  whose  stirring  generalship 

No  team  can  ever  fail. 
We  keep  the  hope  that  you  will  guide 
Our  course  thro'  many  another  fall; 
Good-by!    take  with  you  on  your  way 
The  blessing  of  us  all. 


A    THANKSGIVING    TOAST. 

•p — ^NE  of  the  team  for  the  whole  four  years; 

Ah,  what  a  record  that ! 
Strongest  and  best  of  the  Pioneers, 

Fill  me  a  glass  to  "Phat." 
Drink  with  me  to  his  health  again; 
This  is  no  toast  to  sip; 
Here  's  to  the  captain  whose  loyal  men 
Saved  us  the  championship! 

Ninety-five,  this  is  our  triumph  hour, 

Never  again  to  be; 
But  when  at  length  our  boasted  power 

Fades  into  memory, 
Still  in  the  hearts  of  us  all  shall  live 

He  whom  to-day  we  cheer, — 
Downing!  the  darling  of  Ninety-five, 

Captain  and  Pioneer. 


99 


IN   THE    SPIDER'S   WEB. 

(WEITTEN  TO   MUSIC.) 

T  was  once  upon  a  time, 
That  the  hero  of  this  rhyme, 
Guileless  Freshie,  green  as  grass, 
Met  an  artful  Senior  lass. 
Oh,  she  smiled  on  him  demurely, 
She  had  loved  none  other,  surely, 
And  her  heart  was  his  securely, — 
Poor  little  maid! 

For  she  had  never  seen  the  mau 
soleum, 
By  the  stock-farm  she  had  never 

strayed, 
She  had  never  seen  the  Quad   by 

moonlight, — 
Poor  little  Koble  maid! 

So  this  Freshman  lent  his  aid, 
Just  to  introduce  the  maid 


100 


IN    THE    SPIDER  S    WEB. 

To  the  beauties  of  the  place, 
But  she  set  him  such  a  pace 
That  he  spent  his  monthly  ration 
All  in  ice-cream  dissipation, — 
Now  he  damns  co-education 

And  the  Roble  maid; 
For  it  was  not  quite  true  that 

She  had  never  seen  the  mausoleum, 
Nor  never  near  the   stock-farm 

strayed; 
She  knew  each  corner  of  the  Quad 

by  moonlight, — 
Sly  little  Roble  maid! 


101 


HONI    SOIT    QUI    MAL    Y    PENSE." 


T  is  said  there  is  a  maiden 
Living  over  in  the  Hall, 
Whose  tender  little  spirit 

Several  dreadful  things  appall, — 
Thro'  whose  modest,  fluttering  nature 
Suddenly  a  shudder  thrills 
At  the  mention  or  the  memory 
Of  the  recent  Vaudevilles. 

In  the  chapel  she  takes  refuge 

From  the  naughtiness  elsewhere, 
Never  dreaming  that  at  one  time 

We  'd  have  doubtless  held  them  there. 
Little  maiden,  too  incautious, 

Those  suggestive  colored  bills 
Should  have  given  you  suspicions 

Of  the  daring  Vaudevilles. 

Was  it  your  sweet  voice,  we  wonder, 
Pointing  out  excitedly, 
102 


"HONI    SOIT    QUI    MAL    Y    PENSE. 

In  the  ballet  poster,  evils 

That  the  others  failed  to  see? 
Oh,  why  did  you,  little  maiden, 

With  your  dainty  moral  frills, 
Ever  brave  the  rank  contagion 

Of  those  sinful  Vaudevilles! 
We  have  heard  how  sore  they  shocked  you; 

And  your  high  resolve  is  known, 
Never  to  incur  acquaintance 

With  the  baleful  stars  that  shone. 
Little  maiden,  be  not  anxious; 

WThile  we  have  our  own  free  wills, 
You  will  never  know  the  actors 

In  those  horrid  Vaudevilles. 

Wound  up  in  your  righteous  wrappings 

For  a  life  of  cats  and  tea, 
You  need  never  dread  disturbance 

From  such  common  clay  as  we. 
Let  us  go  our  way  unhindered 

To  pursue  the  pace  that  kills, 
And,  though  forced  to  do  without  you, 

We  will  stick  to  Vaudevilles. 
103 


LOEELEI. 

E  fareth  in  a  joyous  wise 

Where  runs  the  road  'neath  gentle 

skies  ;  — 

How  should  his  canine  heart  sur 
mise 
That  where  the  red-roofed  towers  rise 

The  blood  is  red  upon  the  slab? 
His  way  is  warm  with  sunlight  yet, 
He  knoweth  not  the  sun  must  set; 
And  he  hath  in  the  roadway  met 
The  Ladye  of  the  Lab. 

How  should  he  read  her  face  aright? 
Upon  her  brow  the  hair  is  bright, 
Within  her  eyes  a  tender  light, 
Her  luring  hands  are  lily-white, 

Tho'  blood  be  red  upon  the  slab; 
Her  calling  voice  is  siren-sweet, — 
He  crouches  fawning  at  her  feet, — • 
104 


LORELEI. 

(It  is  a  fatal  thing  to  meet 
The  Ladye  of  the  Lab!) 

And  she  hath  ta'en  him  with  a  string 
To  where  the  linnets  never  sing, 
Where  stiff  and  still  is  everything, 
And  there  a  heart  lies  quivering 

When  blood  is  red  upon  the  slab : 
O  little  dog  that  wandered  free ! 
And  hath  she  done  this  thing  to  thee? 
How  may  she  work  her  will  with  me, — 

The  Ladye  of  the  Lab! 


105 


THE    LAST    GOOD -BY. 

_HE  music  is  hushed  in  the  night,  boy, 
The  crowds  from  the  booths  are 

gone, 
The  moon   on  the  canvas    is  white, 

boy, 

We  stand  in  the  Quad  alone; 
The  lanterns  that  pointed  the  eaves,  boy, 

Catch  fire,  blaze  a  moment,  and  die, 
For  it  's  now  that  the  Pioneer  leaves,  boy, — 
He  has  come  to  his  last  good-by. 

I  welcomed  the  fairy-like  change,  boy, 

For  somehow  it  made  me  feel 
Relieved  that  the  place  should  seem  strange,  boy, — 

The  heartache  was  all  too  real. 
For  a  man  cannot  help  feeling  shame,  boy, 

And  yet  I  'd  have  had  to  cry 
If  the  old  Quad  had  looked  just  the  same,  boy, 

When  it  came  to  the  last  good-by. 

106 


THE    LAST    (JOOD-BY. 

I  told  her  good-night  at  the  hall,  boy, 

Where  often  I've  said  it  before; 
We  knew  't  was  the  end  of  it  all,  boy, 

The  old  walks  would  know  us  no  more; 
And  still,  though  I  '11  never  forget,  boy, 

That  soft  little  parting  sigh, 
I  knew  in  my  heart  that  not  yet,  boy, 

Came  the  worst  of  this  last  good-by. 

The  girls  are  all  right  in  their  place,  boy, 

And  doubtless  we  both  of  us  show 
The  power  of  a  feminine  grace,  boy, 

That  has  bettered  us  both,  we  know; 
But  after  these  four  glad  years,  boy, 

What  co-ed  attachment  can  vie 
With  the  love  of  us  two  Pioneers,  boy, 

In  the  Quad  for  our  last  good-by? 

The  fun  and  the  folly  of  youth,  boy; 

We  have  shared  to  the  full,  we  two, — 
The  thirst  of  the  heart  after  truth,  boy, 

I  have  felt  it  and  followed,  with  you; 

107 


THE    LAST    QOOD-BT. 

And  now  the  companionship  ends,  boy, 

The  manifold  meanings  that  lie 
In  the  depths  of  the  words,  "college  friends,"  boy, 

Make  holy  this  last  good-by. 

To-morrow  we  go  to  the  Gym,  boy, 

And  then  we  are  done  with  it  all; 
I  '11  warrant  the  place  will  be  dim,  boy, 

When  we  've  answered  that  last  roll-call. 
Then,  here,  with  our  hands  gripped  tight,  boy, 

In  the  dear  old  Quad,  you  and  I, 
Let  us  tell  it  together,   "Good-night,"  boy, 

God  bless  it  forever, —  Good-by! 


108 


109 


AFTERWARD. 

'VE  left  college  and  you  're  still  there, 
Spending     money    while      I     am 

saving, 
But  once    in   a  while  we   two   meet 

where 

The  steps  lead  down  from  the  city  paving, 
And  there  we  talk  of  the  life  each  knows, 

The  sun  and  wind  of  the  college  weather; 
We  three  friends,  while  the  evening  goes, 
You  and  Pilsner  and  I  together. 

Pilsner  's  a  jolly,  congenial  chap, 

Surnamed  Schlitz,  and  found  wherever 
They  keep  the  best  of  this  world  on  tap, — 

Sparkling  always,  unpleasant  never; 
And  what  if  he  really  crossed  the  sea, 

Or  is  native-born,  who  cares  a  feather, 
So  long  as  he  makes  our  number  three, 

You  and  Pilsner  and  I  together? 
110 


AFTERWARD. 

I  went  out  into  life  last  May, 

Only  a  space,  but  it  seems  much  longer, — 
Change  comes  quick  when  one  goes  away, 

Pleasures  weaken  and  cares  grow  stronger; 
And  so,  when  chatting  again  are  we, 

I  doubt  a  little  and  wonder  whether 
This  means  to  you  what  it  does  to  me, — 

You  and  Pilsner  and  I   together. 


Ill 


IN    THE    COLD,    COLD    WORLD. 

(WRITTEN  TO  MUSIC.) 

E  were  jolly  Pioneers 

Not  so  many  moons  ago, 
All  the  joys  of  Mayfield  evenings 

We  were  said  to  fully  know; 
But  there  came  a  day  for  leaving, 
And  the  great  world  lay  before, 
So  we  packed  our  little  schoolbooks, 
And  we  '11  use  them  never  more. 

In  the  cold,  cold  world, 
Ah,  goodby  to  youthful  follies, 
All  those  lazy  days  are  o'er; 
Bumming  now  must  have  cessation, 
For  just  after  graduation 
Comes  a  painful  revelation 

In  the  cold,  cold  world! 

In  those  happy  days  we  labored 
When  we  pleased,  or  not  at  all, 
112 


IN  THE  COLD,  COLD  WORLD. 

And  we  made  a  great  impression 

On  the  world, —  at  Roble  Hall. 
Now  we  get  a  cold  reception 

From  the  world  we  thought  to 
When  we  ring  her  iron  door-bell, 

We  can  never  find  her  in. 
In  the  cold,  cold  world, 
Things  are  very,  very  different, 

It  is  not  the  dear  old  Quad; 
There  the  palm-trees  gently  rustle, 
But  outside  it 's  noise  and  bustle, 
And  it 's  we  who  have  to  rustle 
In  the  cold,  cold  world ! 


113 


S/l 


AN    OLD    ACQUAINTANCE. 

HEN  back  into  the  Quad  I  came 

In  my  alumnusship, 
It  did  not  wholly  seem  the  same; 

The  old  companionship 
"Was  missing,  and  I  longed  to  hear 
Familiar  accents  in  my  ear, 
To  feel  a  well-known  grip. 

The  while  I  mourned  this  chilling  change 

With  trembling  of  the  lip, 
I  heard  a  voice  no  longer  strange, 

I  felt  a  well-known  grip, 
And  knew  that  Hodges'  Dog  was  nigh, 
And  that  he  had  not  passed  me  by 

In  my  alumnusship. 


114 


WHEN    WE    COME    BACK    NO    MORE. 

WONDEB,  -when  from  summer  sleep 

The  old  Quad  wakes  again, 
When  calling  bells  their  vigils  keep 

And  watch  for  us  in  vain, — 
Those  bells  on  which  we  heaped, 

last  year, 
Anathemas  galore, 

But  now  are  grown  so  strangely  dear 
When  we  come  back  no  more, — 

I  wonder  if  among  the  leaves 

A  voice  will  whisper  low, 
A  little  dreaming  voice  that  grieves 

Over  the  long  ago; 
If  new-filled  places  will  forget 

Who  loved  them  best  before, 
Or  stir  a  little  with  regret 

That  we  come  back  no  more. 


115 


WHEN   WE    COME    BACK    NO    MOBS. 

When  underneath  the  sacred  shade 

"Where  shines  our  name  to-day, 
With  stranger  steps  the  man  and  maid 

Of  '99  shall  stray, 
Will  our  old  tree,  bent  down  to  hear 

The  same  things  o'er  and  o'er, 
Forget  this  is  not  yester-year 

And  we  come  back  no  more? 

Beyond  the  Palo  Alto  hills 

The  days  slip  stealthily; 
The  echo  of  their  footsteps  fills 

The  Quad  with  memory; 
There  where  we  made  a  painted  boast, 

The  chapel  site  before, 
Lies  glimmering  the  twilight  ghost 

Of  what  will  come  no  more. 

We  scatter  down  the  four  wide  ways, 
Clasp  hands  and  part,  but  keep 

The  power  of  the  golden  days 
To  lull  our  care  asleep, 

116 


WHEN    WE    COME    BACK    NO    MOKE. 

And  dream,  while  our  new  years  we  fill 
With  sweetness  from  those  four, 

That  we  are  known  and  loved  there  still, 
Though  we  come  back  no  more. 


117 


A     000  046  043     6 


